Beautiful
by madeleine68
Summary: Olivia wants Alex. Badly. But what would someone like Alex ever want with someone like her? Can they work past their initial uncertainties and create a future together? CHAPTER FOUR IS UP! A/O Review for more!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Dick Wolf.**

**Author's note: This takes place sometime around season 3/4. Obviously A/O, and told from Olivia's point of view. Enjoy!**

I wonder if she knows what she does to me. I sit in court, preoccupied with those striking blue eyes, brought out by her cerulean shirt; that golden hair, wondering what it would feel like to run my fingers through it. Like silk, probably. Soft and beautiful and feather-light.

She's asked me a question and I haven't heard it, and when I ask her to repeat it, she smirks a little. I wonder if I'm imagining it, or if she knows exactly what she's doing to me – and is _enjoying _every second of it.

I stutter out an answer, and her smug smile widens. She turns and saunters back to her seat, and I can't keep my eyes off her perfect body.

_Alex, _I want to tell her. _You need to let me do my job. And I can't put rapists in prison when I can't stop staring at your ass. You're too good at distracting me!_

To which she would smile sweetly and say, "Who, me?" batting her eyelashes innocently. And I would be rendered speechless, unable to argue the point. _That _is what she does to me.

Langan walks toward the witness stand, presumably to cross examine me, but I can't take my eyes off Alex. She is so beautiful. When she's pristinely put together. When she's reducing child molesters to jelly at her feet. When she's trying to be casual. When she's downright tipsy at Meloni's after a few drinks. Hell, when she's just gotten out of _bed_, she's absolutely breathtaking.

"Detective?"

I force myself to focus on Langan. I can find some excuse to drop by the DA's office and ogle her for hours later . . . or tomorrow . . . or the next day. I have one chance at putting Marcus Wilkenson, a.k.a. the Greenwich Stalker, in prison, and I can't blow it.

I answer Langan's questions, and I'm almost relieved when he finishes and I'm allowed to leave.

Elliot's waiting for me outside the courtroom and gives me a low whistle. "Subtle, Liv. Very subtle."

I glare at him. "Shut up."

"Could you have been any more obvious that you were more focused on Cabot's ass than the questions Langan was asking? He had to repeat his first question _three times_."

I quirk an eyebrow. "Well, she _does _have a particularly nice ass."

Elliot chuckles. "Do yourself a favor and let me testify next time."

I roll my eyes. "I think she likes torturing me."

"We have that in common," he says seriously.

"Yeah. If I get to the car first, you're taking a cab."

"In that case, I'll have the perfect excuse to go home early. It's Kathleen's birthday tomorrow and I haven't gotten her a gift yet."

"Go ahead. I'll cover for you."

"You just want to get rid of me."

"True."

He smirks. "You going to ask Cabot out tonight?"

"Maybe."

"_Right_. You can tell me all about it tomorrow."

"Yeah, well, don't count on it."

"I won't."

"Even if I asked her out, I don't think she'd come." There's a tinge of sadness in my voice, one that I wish wasn't there. I don't want Elliot to start feeling sorry for me. That isn't the point.

"Why wouldn't she?"

"Uh, let's see. Because she's straight?"

"Is that a question or a statement?"

"Both."

"Liv, as your partner – I love you like a sister, but I don't think any man _or _woman would pass up a date with you."

I lightly punch his shoulder. "Hey, don't be getting all sentimental on me. Go home and spend some time with those kids of yours. It's about time they see your ugly mug."

Elliot smiles. "Don't need to tell me twice."

* * *

As I'm driving back to the precinct, I actually consider what Elliot's said. I could ask Alex out, really. The worst she could say is no. Would that really be the end of the world?

Yes. Yes, it would really be the end of the world. I'm not sure if I love her – honestly, I don't know her well enough to be able to say that. But I think I can love her, if she lets me. I'm infatuated with her at the very least. But why would someone like her want someone like me? I'm just an overworked, underpaid detective whose personal life is practically nonexistent.

She likes to tease me. I mean, Elliot likes to tease me, but Alex takes it to the next level. The way she sashays across a room, purposefully swinging her hips, because she knows it drives me crazy. The way she tosses her hair. The way she adjusts those wonderfully sexy glasses of hers. The way she sits just an inch too close and wears skirts just an inch too short land lets them ride up, revealing just an inch of her beautiful, milky white thighs. I'd like to say she's flirting with me, but she could just be mocking me, knowing that I'm besotted with her, and she goes home every day and has a good laugh at my expense.

I drive in circles around the DA's office for half an hour, trying to work up the courage to ask her out. I can do it, really. I almost laugh at the irony of it; I'm out 24 hours a day most days, chasing scum and throwing them in jail, and I'm fearless. But I'm terrified to ask Alexandra Cabot out on a date.

By the time I finally work up the courage, it's 5:30, and Alex has already gone home. Fail.

So what can I do? I turn the car around and go home, too. Tomorrow, I decide. Tomorrow I'll do it.

**Review for chapter two!**


	2. Chapter 2

When I get into work the next morning, my mind is made up. Today, I will ask Alex out. It must be today, before I lose my nerve. It's funny how I chase down the worst criminals, rapists and murdering scum, every single day, and yet I'm afraid of Alex Cabot.

Wouldn't _you _be?

Alex is already there when I arrive, which stops me for a moment. She's talking to Elliot, and smirks when she sees me as if she knows that I spent last night agonizing over her. As usual.

She hands something to Elliot, then turns to me. "Good morning, Detective," she says crisply.

"'Morning," I mutter, averting my eyes. I can't do this.

Elliot snickers, and I want to tell him to shut up, because he's ruining the chance I have with Alex, miniscule as it may be.

"Anyway," says Alex. "I'm going to get the warrant from Petrovsky. Wish me luck."

"Good luck," says Elliot wryly. "I think you'll need it."

I flush, as if the words were intended for me, although I know they weren't.

She starts to walk away, and I know it's now or never. I run to catch up with her, and call out, "Wait – Cabot!" I blush, and try again. I can't call her _Cabot _while I'm asking her out. "Alex?"

She turns around and smirks again. Suddenly, I forget what I'm going to say, and I can't get a single word out. I can't think when she's staring at me with those stunning cobalt eyes of hers, twinkling with amusement. I love the way her eyes sparkle. They are so, so beautiful.

I want to kiss her, so badly. I want to meld my lips with hers, and imagine for a moment what they'd feel like. Soft and sweet, just like she is.

"Yes?" she says, running a hand through her hair, and I feel a tingle in my stomach. I need to calm myself down.

"Alex," I repeat dumbly. I can't think of what I'm supposed to say now, because even though I planned out what I was going to say last night, one look into her eyes and I'm gone. I think I must have even forgotten my own name by now.

She crosses her arms, her eyes still shining, her lips turning up slightly. "I don't have all day, Detective. My time is too valuable to stand here and watch you stammer." She sounds almost impatient, but I think she's just mocking me. I hope so, because I don't want to upset her. I don't ever want to upset her.

I feel like a teenager with a crush, tongue-tied and rambling. "Um, I was just – I was wondering – I thought maybe –" I stop, take a deep breath, and start over. "Alex, do you want to get dinner with me sometime? You know, just the two of us?"

For a terrifying moment, I think she's going to laugh at me, but then she smiles slyly. "I thought you'd never ask."

I stand there like an idiot for a moment, my mouth opening and closing, unable to form any coherent words or even thoughts, wondering what on Earth she means by that.

She takes my hand and gives it a squeeze. "Tonight, the Octagon, 7:30. You can pick me up."

She turns and sashays away, purposefully swinging her hips, and I think I've died and gone to heaven. Then I stare stupidly after her, wondering what on Earth the Octagon is. Probably some swanky, high-class place downtown Manhattan that she frequents, another place in which she'll fit in and I won't. "I thought the Octagon was in Washington," I say, trying to make a joke.

She turns back, smirking again. "That would be the _Pentagon_." God, she's beautiful even when she's making fun of me.

I blush. "Right. Yeah, so, um, I'll see you at seven." I hate how she turns me into a blubbering idiot, every time.

Then it really occurs to me – she's held my hand! Okay, it was a fleeting touch, but still. Her hands are soft and warm, her fingers long and slender, each nail immaculately manicured. Her hands fit perfectly into mine.

I need to get control of myself before tonight. I'm going to spend at least two hours alone with her, and I can't spend that entire time babbling like an idiot. _That _is what Alex does to me.

I want to impress her, so much, but so far I've been failing miserably. She's so far above me in every way – brilliant, beautiful, classy, rich. Everything I'm not and never will be. Yet, she must see _something _in me, because she's agreed to come on a date.

Then an awful thought occurs to me. What if this is just a sick joke that she thought up with Elliot, and I'm reading too much into this, and she's going to spend the next million years laughing at me over it? I'll never live it down. Oh, God –

No, Alex wouldn't do that to me. She may tease me, often, but she isn't cruel. She really wants to go out with me. She really wants to go out with _me_.

I walk back into the squad room, feeling lightheaded all over again. _So _this_ is what love feels like_.

Elliot grins at me as I sit down at my desk. "I'm guessing you asked out Cabot."

I ignore him and rummage around for a pen.

"And by the look on your face, I'm assuming she said yes."

I smirk. "Maybe, maybe not."

"Oh, please. I haven't seen you so giddy in – _ever_."

"I am not _giddy_."

"Fine. Is _lovesick _better?"

"I am not –" Yes, actually. Yes, I am.

**Review for chapter three!**


	3. Chapter 3

I spend two hours showering and getting dressed, changing my outfit three separate times before I finally decide what to wear on my – date – with Alex. That sounds so good to say – my date with Alex! God, do I want to go on a date with Alex.

It occurs to me at 6:22 that I don't know where Alex lives. That could pose a problem, because she told me to come pick her up at 7:00 sharp. How am I supposed to pick her up if I don't know where she lives?

I consider calling her – her number is on speed dial, after all, just in case I need a warrant or something else that can't wait. Such as . . . a date?

I wonder if she's sitting at home – in her luxury penthouse on the Upper East Side – and laughing at me, waiting for me to call. I don't want to seem like a fool, although that's the inevitable culmination of every conversation I've ever had with Alex, but I'm guessing her phone number is unlisted, and I don't have the time or the energy to run a database search for her address. I'm going to have to call her.

I pull out my phone and prepare myself mentally for Alex's teasing, but there's no need. It vibrates the moment I pick it up, showing an incoming text message, and _Alex _flashes on my screen. _156 Park Avenue. Top floor. See you in thirty._

She lives on _Park Avenue_. I'm going to look like a poor civil servant. I _am _a poor civil servant. I'm not accustomed to the luxury that she is, and I won't have a clue how to act. The doorman might not even let me in!

I change my clothes again, opting for something slightly classier, and take a deep breath. If I don't leave now, I'm going to be late, and I absolutely _cannot _be late for Alex.

I get to her apartment five minutes late anyway, and stop outside the luxurious apartment building, momentarily daunted. It looks so intimidating, so sophisticated and elegant – like Alex herself.

I bite my lip and park the car. Taking a deep breath, I start toward the door and walk inside.

I glance at the doorman, badge at the ready, just in case, but he waves me ahead. "Ms. Cabot is expecting you, Detective," he says mildly. "This way." He points me toward the elevator to the penthouse – Alex has her own private _elevator_! I'm in awe, to say the least.

I rap lightly on Alex's door, and she opens it almost immediately. "You're late."

"Yeah, well, I got lost in this spacious apartment building."

There it is, that smile I love so much, lighting up her entire face. It lasts for just a moment, but her smile is like sunshine after days and days of rain, and my heart feels like it's going to jump out of my chest and dance circles around the two of us. _The two of us. _There is no sweeter phrase in the English language, except maybe Alex's name.

There's no question about it: I am head over heels in love with Alex Cabot. She turns me into the world's biggest sap, although my tough detective self would be loath to admit it.

Alex looks so beautiful tonight – not that she doesn't look beautiful every minute of every day, but tonight she looks especially gorgeous. Her hair falls over her shoulders in voluptuous golden waves, and she's wearing a blue strapless dress that brings out her striking cerulean eyes and comes to just above her knees, exposing those long, graceful legs that I love so much. I imagine what it would feel like to touch them, to touch _her_, to rake my fingers through her luscious blonde hair, to run my hands over her smooth alabaster skin, to kiss her full, pink lips.

I need to get myself under control. I try to focus on breathing and manage a smile at Alex. I make an elaborate bow. "Your Majesty." She smiles again, and I hold out my arm. "Shall we?"

Beaming, she links her arm through mine and together, we walk to the elevator. As the elevator starts to descend, once again I'm overwhelmed with the urge to kiss her. I manage to suppress it, and we stroll to the car in comfortable silence.

For a moment, I'm ashamed of my basic, worn car – it doesn't fit in with the BMW and Lexus models in the parking lot. It's silly, and on some level I know that, because she's seen my beat up Toyota a million times before, but I still feel, for just a moment, that I'm not good enough.

She seems to notice my hesitation and gives my hand a squeeze. It's all I need to feel comfortable again, once I realize how ridiculous and petty I'm being, and I give her a smile. Although her surname connotes otherwise, Alex isn't shallow. Not in my experience, anyway.

"So where are we going?" I ask.

She rolls her eyes. "You're driving."

"Yeah, but I don't know where we're going. That's why I asked you."

"I made us reservations at the Octagon."

"Uh-huh."

Then I blush, not wanting to sound like an uneducated piece of white trash, or something similar. Alex never uses made-up words like "uh-huh" and "yeah," and for a moment I worry about what she thinks of me. Again, I realize how silly I'm being. We've known each other for three years – she knows how I talk, and she's never said anything before, so why should she start now? We're from two completely different worlds. That's a fact. Her world is luxurious and mine is gritty. Yet, she's still agreed to come out on a date with me.

Why?

"So, can you give me directions?" I ask again.

"How about I drive?"

I consider for a moment. "The princess doesn't want her chauffer?"

It's meant as a joke, but then I realize I've overstepped my boundaries, because a shadow crosses her face. "Don't."

"I'm sorry, Alex. I just – never mind. I probably shouldn't have said that."

She sighs. "My stepmother used to say that to me. As in, _you're such a spoiled princess_. Meaning, _you're such a spoiled brat_. I hated it. She hated me."

"Your stepmother?" Alex has never really spoken about her family, or even her childhood. I've just always assumed, knowing that she's the product of a privileged environment, that it was happy. Perfect nuclear family and all.

She shrugs noncommittally, but I see the pain flashing in her eyes. I can tell that the memory is hurting her, and I'm sorry for bringing it up.

"That wasn't how I meant it, Alex."

"I know."

"You're not a spoiled brat."

Again, she just shrugs. "Maybe not anymore."

"I can't imagine you ever did anything to warrant her saying that." _I can't imagine you were ever anything less than perfect_, I don't say. _You _are _perfect. _And she is.

She smiles weakly. "I'm being oversensitive. I'm sorry."

I instinctively take her hand and give it a squeeze. "It's okay." I can see that she doesn't want to talk about this, so I don't pursue the topic. "So, anyway, do you want to drive?"

"Okay," she says quickly, clearly grateful for the change in subject.

We switch seats and the drive goes by in comfortable silence. I try not to speculate about Alex's childhood, and the pain I can see in her eyes when I look closely enough. It isn't my business, unless she wants to talk, in which case I'm more than happy to listen. But she's not a victim. She's my – almost? – girlfriend. I hope. But this tiny piece of information changes my opinion of her so-called perfect life. Maybe she hasn't had it so easy after all.

**Review for chapter four!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry for the delay in posting. Life's been really busy and I've been experiencing a bit of writer's block. Anyway, I hope this chapter lives up to your expectations. Thanks for reading!**

We arrive at the Octagon just in time for our reservation. It's a swanky place in the Upper East Side, and I immediately feel classless and underdressed. Alex, on the other hand, fits right in.

The hostess leads us to an intimate table next to the window, toward the back of the restaurant. I hold out Alex's chair for her, trying to make up for my earlier mistake, and Alex gives me a smile, her eyes clearly saying, _It's forgotten_. I'm glad.

I sit down across from her and hold out my hand. She tilts her head to the side, her eyes twinkling, and takes my outstretched hand. "Thank you for taking me out," she says with another smile.

"Am I? I was under the impression _you_ were taking _me_ out."

"Okay. We're taking each other out."

"That sounds good."

A waitress comes over to our table. "My name's Lisa and I'm going to be taking care of you ladies this evening," she says. "Do you want anything to drink?"

"I'll have a strawberry daiquiri," Alex says, raising a suggestive eyebrow at me.

I can't help but grin. "I guess I'll have the same."

The waitress brings our drinks a few moments later, and Alex raises her glass. "Cheers."

I clink mine with hers. "To first dates."

"To the first of _many_," she says slyly.

And I can't help myself. I lean forward, and before I know it, I'm kissing her, or maybe she's kissing me, or maybe we're just kissing each other. The kiss is almost electric in its passion, and it sends a shiver coursing through my veins. I could kiss Alex forever and never tire of it. It seems as if I've waited forever for this moment.

Finally, we break apart, and I'm almost panting. God, I sound like a dog. I need to calm myself down.

But Alex, for once, isn't perfectly composed either. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes seem even bluer than usual. She is so beautiful.

"That was . . ." I trail off, unable to think of a word to describe our kiss. I wonder why I've even said anything at all. There are no words for the joy I feel when her lips meet mine, and form a bridge connecting us. We _are _connected. Physically. Emotionally.

"Exhilarating?" Alex offers with the smirk I've grown so accustomed to seeing her wearing when she looks at me.

"Uh-huh." But even that doesn't seem to describe the beauty of it, the warm, fuzzy feeling enveloping me from the crown of my head to the tips of my toes. "I love you!" I finally blurt out, because it seems like the only thing I can say right now, and because it's true.

Her hand stops in midair, her fingers curled around her strawberry daiquiri. "You say the darndest things," she says mildly, shaking her head in amusement and taking a sip of the cocktail.

I choose to ignore the fact that Alex Cabot has, for the first time since I've known her, used a made up word like _darndest_. "No, no," I try to say, even though she's grinning at me, and all I can think of is how white her teeth are, how soft her lips are, how sweet they taste. The taste that is uniquely _Alex_. I could make a cocktail out of her and drink it every day, and never get tired of it.

Alex Cabot provokes the _darndest _thoughts in me.

"I _do _love you," I tell her quietly, knowing all at once that the words are true, desperate for her to believe them.

She sighs and puts down her drink. "You don't know me," she says, sounding almost weary.

"No!" I stammer, again. God, I hate what she does to me. "I do. I've worked with you for three years, Alex."

"So you know I have a temper," she says, smiling weakly. "_You work for me at my discretion_, remember?"

I chuckle uneasily. "Yeah. Well, you were right."

Alex smirks. "As usual." She hesitates. "Why don't we wait until at least date number six for spontaneous declarations of love?"

_So she's expecting there to be more dates_. And I'm glad. Alex is only more intriguing now that I've glimpsed what lies beneath her stoic exterior, and I'm inexplicably drawn to her. I want so much to get to know her better.

Our waitress' appearance startles me from my thoughts. "Are the two of you ready to order or would you like a few more minutes?" she asks.

Alex glances at me. "I'm ready if you are."

I try not to think of the million ways I could interpret that phrase. "Me, too."

We order, and when our waitress leaves, we lapse into comfortable silence. It doesn't matter if we aren't having some kind of intellectual conversation; I'm perfectly happy just to be here with her, basking in the warmth of her presence. I do love Alex, and I'd spend every minute of every day with her if I could. If she'd let me.

Alex sips her daiquiri. "Have you ever been to Paris?"

I meet her eyes, startled. "Where did that come from?"

She shrugs, blushing a little. Alex Cabot blushing is the most adorable thing in the world, and I can't help but smile.

"Don't laugh at me," she says, pouting, which is even cuter, and sends me into a fit of giggles. I feel like a teenager again, fourteen years old and on my first date, sitting only inches from my crush and too tongue-tied to speak. That was probably the last time I actually _giggled_.

"No," I say when I've caught my breath. "That was just – random."

Alex smiles. "I was just thinking – you know, the city of romance and all that."

I raise an eyebrow. "Are you inviting me to Paris?"

She laughs. "No. I was just thinking about it. If I could choose anywhere in the world to live, it would probably be there."

I'm lost. "So, you're suggesting we elope there together?"

"No!" Then she smiles slyly. "Not yet, anyway."

"Well, that sounds promising."

"Doesn't it?"

"I'd like to take you there someday," I tell her, firstly because I think it's why she's brought it up in the first place and second of all because I really do.

She chuckles. "Sounds like a plan."

Well, now I feel stupid. That's the general feeling she evokes in me – inadequacy. And I still have no idea what she's talking about.

"We used to spend summers there when I was little," she says suddenly. "My dad had a house there."

"In Paris?"

She nods.

"That sounds . . . lavish?"

She smiles weakly. "It was." Then abruptly she says, "If there was anywhere in the world you could live, where would it be?"

I shrug. "I don't know. I haven't travelled the world like you have."

Alex looks down her nose at me. "You make me sound so spoiled," she says, but she smiles, and I know she's just teasing.

"No, you're not. Just . . . privileged." That's the right word, anyway. "I would live in Paris, with you."

She laughs. "No, really."

"Wherever you are," I say, and mean it.

"Aw, Liv. Really."

"Aw, Liv, really, what?"

She shakes her head at me. "You're so sweet."

"And chivalrous," I say, blushing a bit.

"A perfect combination."

Almost instinctively, I take her hand again, and she lets me. It feels so nice, the way our hands fit perfectly together. Hers is warm and soft, and so fragile that I fear it will break if I hold it too tightly.

Our waitress returns a moment later with our food, and Alex gives me a smile before taking a delicate bite of her pasta. She doesn't release my hand, though, and I'm glad.

**Review for chapter five!**


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